She's got Marty Feldman Boobs (sung to the tune of Bette Davis Eyes)
I have to post this here - I just posted it as a comment on Big Dick's blog, but I want to go on record on my own blog as having said this...

Having large ta-tas, I have to chime in on the implant thingie. I don't have a problem with people having surgery to improve their appearance and self-esteem, I just think it's tragic how many bad doctors are supported by the industry because of high demand. I mean, isn't it sad when you see a botched boob job? Lop-sided, peculiarly out of proportion, or my favorite: skin stretched so tightly over the implant that you can read the Dow-Corning logo and serial number from the outside. *Sheesh* I mean seriously. If you can only afford the down-market big-lots version of a breast-implant surgeon, by all means, wait until you CAN afford someone with decent references!

Oh, and uh, what's up with those hideous torchiere lamps you always see in unfortunate looking home-grown nudie photos. After the dazzlement of these disturbing knockers wore off, I noticed the ubiquitous ugly lamp making an appearance as per usual. Despite my love of BD's writing, I take pains to avoid the homemade nastiness that is usually festooning his lair, and a shocking number of soul-killing photos seem to have this very lamp. I'm just saying...

I love this groovy shit from Global Table. I love these melamine trays because - well, I love them because they're them. The glass teapot reminds me of a clear glass pyrex vessel my mom used to cook in in the early 70s when we lived in Memphis. Yeah, my mom was a groovy chick. She wore silver shoes to an awards banquet(in my pop's honor), and I think that warped me for life. Now I've gone her one better in the silver shoes department - my silver platform oxfords have holograms. Yes, hologrammy swirls. They're made in England by Underground - bought them for myself for my birthday about 7 years ago. OK, just begged husband to photograph them for you good folks, and he obligingly said "OK, Elton." He's a good guy. If you saw a wild woman at a Cramps concert wearing these shoes, that was me. Ain't they fabulous??? I RAWK!

I still love Cabaret Voltaire. "I Want You" from "The Covenant, the Sword, and the Arm of the Lord" rates as one of my favorite songs ever. And "Don't Argue" from Code has one of the best videos ever. Popular/dance music seems on some 20-year delay, like they're just now wrapping their heads around what CV's Kirk & Mallinder did in the early 80s. The progress of techno/industrial has been a sublimely strange journey, but somehow CV still always seems fresh and remarkable. Aside from having a voice on the seething side of a purr, Stephen Mallinder has a great look befitting the chilly menace of techno/industrial. Yum. The "Don't Argue" video, circa 1987, features grainy color footage of what appears to be Nevada badlands, people in outmoded clothing wrangling snakes, and women with beehive 'dos wearing 50's era underwear yelling and firing shotguns. What's not to love?

Last night I dreamt I was in London at a movie theater, and I had a remote control and could chose what I was watching. I didn't realize anyone else was in the room, though, until I heard people behind me groan after I switched channels. Suddenly there was a weird guy with stringy white hair like cornsilk sitting next to me, well, hovering over me would be more accurate. I got up and left and went outside, and I was still in London, but the Thames opened out into an enormous bay like San Francisco, and there was a huge bridge half-finished and stretching out into the middle of the bay, stopping in mid-air. I thought I needed to get to Jamaica, and I heard Bob Marley singing "The sun is shining, the weather is sweet..."

San Diego Zoo has a very cool Panda Cam which is usually in the area containing 20 pound baby panda Su Lin and her mama. Cuteness.

David Lee Roth is an interesting study in American rock. He was the poster-child for early 80s spandex and hair-god-ishness. He's had a battery of looks that rival Madonna, though perhaps without her exacting control over which images were released to the press. Nor with her savvy production and songwriting skills, alas. Still, he's been fascinating to consider. I respect his limitless loopy energy. He seems like fun.
In the first photo, Dave dons some sort of sheepskin chaps, no doubt on his way to a Dionysian festival of some sort. This may have been the birth of Uggs.


My my. At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender.
One great thing about DLR is that in spite of his full-tilt verve for the schlocky image he peddles at any given moment, he throws in a bit of jazzy doo-wop that is sorta like winking at the audience, letting them know he is actually only being ironic. Mostly. It mostly seems ironic. I hope it's ironic. ...though some of it seems... Well. You know.





This in my opinion was DLR at his best. The non-gaping for a change pie-hole may have some weight in creating this appeal. He does clean up rather nicely, here. Looking a bit distinguished, a little calmer, not smoked- and drunked-up to the gills.

The white shirt photo shows his big ole mouth, but not like the enormous cat-flap-that-ate-Manhattan mug we usually see him sporting, so even that is ok. I'll give him a pass on that. I'm thinking this is the look Jessica Simpson's surgeon was going for.






But this last one mystifies me. What have they done to him? Just look at him: broken, chained, manacled! We see here that Dave must have had about a mile of asscrack flapping in the wind back there. Whatever you do, David, don't JUMP! These pants are clearly too immodest to be worn in polite society, leading me to conclude he invented those vulgar pants ladies are wearing these days. You know the ones - pudenda-centric with a bit of spare tire spilling over the banks rather often. Thanks a lot, DLR. His frazzled mane is rushing to merge with the bristling field of chest-fur he's sporting. I wonder if someone was tempted to leave him tied up there? I can see a bag lady shuffling past him through the alley tsk-tsking "Just imagine--throwing away a perfectly good white boy like that!"

What does it mean? Why, David, why?

Tragically, a ferry carrying approximately 1300 souls from Saudi Arabia to Egypt has sunk in the Red Sea. New Orleans mayor Ray Nagin has yet to announce if God is punishing Saudi Arabia or Egypt, but he must be mad at one of them.

(This story is for the Starbucks-phobic Big Dick. Hope your dad is doing well.)

About 3 years ago I was visiting my dearest friends Dianne and Kim in Edmonds near Seattle, and we were on our way to the Fluevog store, which is Mecca for phlegmmy. I have a shoe thing going on, if you haven't noticed. But not just any shoe will do. I like wild color combinations and not-the-usual-shoe everyone else is wearing, and Fluevog caters to my footwear needs in spades. I was wearing a sensible lace-up pair of wingtip 'vogs that day (black and burgundy) with the above-pictured sole. Anyway, that morning was cold and wet, and I hurried across a tiny bit of lawn to the car.

We stopped at Starbucks and there was a bit of a line, so I went to the bathroom. The women's room had an out-of-order sign, so I made free to visit the Gents'. Finished with my ablutions, I turned to leave the restroom and was aghast to see a rather sizeable turd crouched like a small bunny on the floor near the door. Lots of things went through my mind, but having just cleaned my hands, I wasn't about to touch someone else's poop. I went to the counter and Kim and my friend Mary (from Portland) were just finishing their orders. I announced to the counter clerks "There is something disturbing on the floor of your men's room." They asked me to repeat that, so I got a little more downhome and went Hee Haw on they ass. "Y'all have something disgusting on the floor of your men's room." They looked troubled, wondering who this strange creature was and what plot was afoot. Kimmer and Mary were giggling and demanding more information. I explained there was poop on the floor and I knew not from whence it came. This created something of a stir with the employees, unaccustomed as they were to crass Southerners. We giggled a bit, got our overpriced beverages and headed back to the vehicle.

I was wearing a coat, and decided to put my drink on the floorboard of the car before I climbed in and buckled up, and lo and behold if there wasn't a companion bit of turdage lying in wait on the floorboard. Apparently I had stepped in the crap on the lawn, and the super-grippy grooves of my vogs had taken on a passenger who held on for dear life until meeting with the abject splendor of the Starbucks men's room. I started laughing so hard I couldn't stop to tell my companions what had tickled me so. When I finally calmed down enough to explain that in fact I had brought the offending turd into Starbucks, we all roared with laughter. There were tears. It was so damned funny. I opted not to go inform the hapless 'buck-a-roos of what really happened. They probably already thought I put the crap there intentionally. Why disappoint them? And hell no, after paying $5 for a coffee, yeah, they can clean up a bit of dog crap for me!

Quickie Recaps and sundry housekeeping...

Believe it or not, my spelling and grammar are generally impeccable, but sometimes I get so excited when thoughts are tumbling in and my fingers don't quite keep up, so apologies for any typos or other goofs I have posted here or or in comments on your blogs, darlings. Think "phlegmmy has a chihuahua chromosome" and forgive me.

Further on the Alito thing. I mentioned some time ago that I have a cousin on death row in another state. For many years I was 100% pro death-penalty, and over time I have realized there are too many people unjustly convicted to be inconsiderate of the circumstances. So I'd say now I'm 95%. Unfortunately for my cousin, he is probably certifiably retarded (wickedly neglectful parenting is partly to blame, and they should have been convicted WITH him, but that's another story) and led a life that would indicate he is capable of killing someone, although I'm not convinced he committed this crime. About Alito and the death penalty: I am so pleased his first action as Supreme Court Justice was indicative that he is an independent thinker and beholden to none but the US Constitution. When decent people are on that bench, we all win.

Yeah, what I said about the postal shootings was crappy. In the first blush of the news, it's easier to dehumanize the whole thing. Seeing the names and photos humanizes the whole thing, and my heart is not hard against those people - I do feel for their families. It's tragic and senseless, by my point was simply that the USPS is a system which is so poorly structured that things like this are inevitable.

About the chick (Lisa) I met on the phone on Tuesday: we met for lunch yesterday, and we had a grand old time. Together we are a couple of hot bawdys, and I noticed guys at the next table trying to hear our wild conversation. She is amazing, and I have a new friend. She's a high-toned executive for a European bank, and she drives a huge pickup truck. Ya gotta love us truck-driving women. We can handle some shit, and give it right back. Woo hoo!

Have a great Thursday, you sexy sexy people!

Alito Opposes Mo. Execution

Newly appointed Supreme Court Justice Alito voted a stay of execution for a Missouri death row inmate today. Considering what a hard-line conservative he was treated as by our left-leaning brethren in the media and on the Hill, I hope this will be an object lesson for people considering appointees for high-court. Yes, many people can not overcome personal bias, but we need justices who will calmly consider the merits of each case put before them, rather than always falling back on pat conclusions they have reached previously. I think Alito demonstrated that he is going to judge on a case-by-case basis, and if it's not being too self referential, my January 25 post has been validated. Again, I call the mean-spirited hypocrites who opposed his appointment a big bunch of whiny bitches.

FORMER HOSTAGES ALLEGE IRAN'S NEW PRESIDENT WAS CAPTOR
Wow. Did you know that Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was one of the ringleaders of the group of terrorists who held 54 Americans hostage in 1979? I didn't either. Here is a photo of him with one of the US hostages at that time. Nice guy.

Wait, let's take a closer look. Dig that crazy disco Travolta-on-the-Hable mack-daddy in the background. Work it, girl. You're famous.

I had the funniest conversation with someone yesterday. A woman called me at work for some business-related information, and I noticed her name was the same as a woman who had written a sweet little response in yahoo group to the twit who wrote the poison pen letter last week, and I made free to chase rabbits with her. We had a great conversation, both laughing our heads off - we really spark. Like me, she is married to a deferential braniac who is a very good provider and who gets a vicarious charge out of watching people react to her. We established we needed to meet forthwith, and promptly made plans to meet today for lunch at my favorite local Indian restaurant. When Mary (a wonderful person in my office, the only "boss" I've ever genuinely liked) came in, she heard me saying "You'll recognize me because I'll be wearing a green suede jacket and holding a red rose in between my teeth. OK, see you tomorrow. I can't wait to meet you." We cackled. Yes, darlings, cackled. Mary said if she didn't know me better she would have sworn I was making a date. No doubt, one day soon we'll be scouring thrift stores together to find those 1970s giant wooden spoons with which to stir our cauldron.

Yes, we keep our men entertained. So many of my cardinal personality traits are masculine that it's surprising to me when I don't think about how men are responding to stimuli, particularly my man. I told Lisa (my lunch date today) that once some lesbian friends of mine had a big barbecue, and the crowd was about 80% lesbian, 19% gay men, and then me and husband. I'm often the token straight, being a lesbian hag, but I digress. After many beers gave their lives for a good time, a large group of women stood in a circle in the back yard, took their tops off, and rubbed their tits together. I was invited to join in, but claimed my level of insobriety would have made it difficult to stand if I destabilized two major centers of gravity on my glorious bawdy. That, plus it was more fun to watch - I enjoyed it thoroughly, loving outrageousness as I do. Flash forward about a year, and a stunning thought occurred to me. One day I called husband up at work and said "remember that party where all the women took their tops off?" He did. Waddyaknow. "Did you go to work and tell all the guys about it first thing Monday morning?" He did. So here are all these "Office Space" guys gathered around the water cooler hearing tales of the wide, wild world beyond, and giving husband mad props for riding the tail of a comet. Yeah, it's good to be my husband. Happy 40th birthday, sweetie.

Female postal worker goes postal.

I swear to God it wasn't me. Damn, but that heifer was a good shot. While I think it is absolutely tragic that people have lost spouses, parents and children in this affair, I do believe that if she killed just one member of management and just one union steward, it was sorta worth it. Trust me when I say there is little on earth to compare to the hell of working for the Post Office - modeled on military principles with nepotistic selective enforcement of rules, the system is emotionally punishing, and employees feel eaten alive. 9 years I worked for that company. One evening I was telling husband about my day, and I just started crying over my dinner plate - and I don't cry easily. Heroically, he said "You're not going back there." And that was it. Unceremonious. No two-week notice. No going on unemployment. Just not working at all. Just didn't show up one day. We were blessed that we could do without my $40K+ income, and I realize now what a luxury that really is - to be able to walk away. Single, I could not have done it, and until I went to college (I started at 30), I really didn't have the confidence that I could make a living doing anything else. Anyway, these stories never surprise me. What surprises me is that this doesn't happen more often.

Yes, I'm one of those weirdo grownups with braces, and I will be so happy to get my braces off next summer (or fall, ugh). My teeth weren't THAT crooked, but comparing them now to how they were, I see they were more crooked than I realized. Anyway. I've always brushed and flossed religiously, never had a cavity, but now it's so hard to floss that I'm tremendously lazy about it. Sometimes I feel as though my teeth have sprouted fur. It's disgusting. And uncomfortable.

OH, there's one more thing. There is a blogger who I thought had a rather clever blog, and I posted comments to her occasionally. Today I popped back by her site for the first time in a week, and looked at the comments of an older post to see if she responded to my comment since last week. Not only had she NOT posted my comment, she posted the comment almost verbatim as her own clever statement. Now I think this is a shitty thing to do, and quite arrogant and ignorant to believe one won't be busted for such a thing. I said nothing, but I will be watching for more plaigiarism from her - Funny - I thought she was clever on her own - maybe it was ALL a rip-off. What do you think, bloggers? Am I over-reacting, or do you agree with me that it is beneath shitty to do such a thing???